


Baby We're Perfect

by happy_hufflepuffle



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Liam is a Little Shit, M/M, Sad Harry Styles, Sad Louis, Secret Relationship, Well The Performance Is Anyway, harry cries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2019-03-11 01:20:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13513779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/happy_hufflepuffle/pseuds/happy_hufflepuffle
Summary: Royal Variety Performance 2015. Harry sings, because it's all he has left.OrThe one where Harry is in love with Louis so 'Perfect' makes him cry.Because Louis loves him back.





	Baby We're Perfect

**Author's Note:**

> I am so so sorry. I couldn't help myself and now I'm emotional.

The applause echoes throughout the theatre as they walk onstage, Harry leading. He pastes a smile onto his face, gripping the microphone with enough force to make his knuckles ache dully. The same hand that Louis clasped warmly before pushing him ahead, onto the stage. Louis, who stands next to him, elegant, dark. Louis, all cheekbones, and stubble, and sharp lines coated in black. Louis, smiling. Louis, who loves him back.

The clapping slowly fades as the theatre lights dim and the music starts. Harry closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, filling his lungs with the buzz of the audience, and the knowledge that _Prince Harry_ of all people, is here tonight to watch him. _Them_. Niall, Liam. Louis. His breathing falters. The spotlight burns through his eyelids. It's too bright. Too bright, too loud, and Louis is too close. He's not going to cry. Not here.  _Smile and breathe, Harry._ Opening his eyes and resting one arm as casually as he can behind his back, he runs the other hand through his hair. He'll get through this. He has to.

"I might never be your knight in shining armour," Louis sings, and Harry sways to the words behind his mic stand. If he closes his eyes, maybe he can pretend Louis is singing to him. Maybe he is. Like they're in bed and it's one of those nights where everything is too much. Those nights where Harry cries while Louis runs his hands through Harry's soft curls and sings those lyrics like a prayer, voice breaking. 

"I might never be the one you take home to mother," Harry took him home. Took him to all the places he loves, showed him off to the ones he loves. " _This is Louis", he had said, voice trembling with apprehension._ But he didn't have to worry. Because Louis held his hand tight, and his mum hugged them both and helped them carry their bags to the guest bedroom. 

"And I might never be the one who brings you flowers," Harry sees him sneak a look in his direction. Because Louis brings him flowers. When he slips out of bed early in the morning to walk through dark, silent streets, and returns with daisies, or lavender stems, or that one time, a rose. He brought them to Harry, winding them into his long hair and making their pillowcases smell of sunshine. Harry bites back the tears that rise to the surface again.

"But I can be the one, be the one tonight." Harry is the only one who hears Louis' voice break at the end. Liam starts singing about the girl looking across the room, but Harry's tuned out. All he sees is LouisLouisLouis. Shadows on his jaw, like lazy late-night kisses, and white-knuckled hands squeezing the microphone until Harry's worried it might snap. 

"Girl I hope you're sure, what you're looking for," Louis drops his hands from the stand. Moves them indecisively from his front to his back, then again. Harry knows what he's looking for. It's right there next to him, so close he could reach out and touch it if he wanted to. He wants to. But he can't.

"Cause I'm not good at making promises." He can taste the salt in the back of his throat, feels the tension in his shoulders from holding back his tears. But it's nearly his line, and he has to sing.

"But if you like causing trouble up in hotel rooms," His voice is stretched thin, breaking already. "And if you like having secret little rendezvous, if you like to do the things you know that we shouldn't do," It wobbles dangerously. He's so close to breaking. "Baby, I'm perfec-" He's cut off by a silent sob he was unable to restrain, and hopes no one notices. Shoots a glance sideways at Louis before continuing. "Baby, I'm perfect for you."

"And if you like midnight driving with the windows down..." Their voices join seamlessly as always. He loses himself in the lyrics, in his boys, his boy. 

"If you like going places we can't even pronounce..." When his face scrunches with effort, he feels the first tear sliding down his cheek.  _Damn it. He's tried so goddamn hard._

 _"_ So let's start right now." It's more of a choked sob than lyrics. They started this a long time ago. Before anyone told them they were wrong. And through it all they had each other. He knows Liam never understood. Knows that look in his eyes, thinking that they'll break one day, because a love like theirs is pointless. Liam doesn't understand them, didn't understand Zayn. Zayn who loved Liam, Zayn who didn't realise that their hook-up was nothing more than a fling to Liam. Zayn who Liam broke. Will Louis break him?

"I might never be the hands you put your heart in, or the arms that hold you any time you want them," Niall's voice is soft, soothing, and Harry takes a few more breaths. Niall, who's always there with a smile, to find Louis, or distract Liam. Niall, who's now looking at him carefully, reassuringly, as if he might collapse at any second. It's highly likely. He doesn't know how he's going to make it through the rest of the song. They must be close to halfway by now. Liam's singing the bridge, putting all his effort into it, because Harry's not bringing his top performance tonight. Not by a long shot.

"But if you like causing trouble up in hotel rooms..." He tries. He hears his voice in his earpiece, and he sounds stronger. Thank God for Niall. Even though he can feel his eyes prickling, knows they're watery, at least his voice sounds good. The audience is too far away to pick up on facial cues, but his voice  _has_ to sound right. He even shouts a "Hey!" before "Baby I'm perfect for you."

But it doesn't last. Before he knows it, it's his solo. And the tears are running down the back of his throat and filling his lungs. He  _can't breathe, can't breathe_ , but he has to sing. Has to sound normal. "And if you like cameras flashing every time we go out," Endless pap walks and stunts. He's losing his voice. "Oh, yeah," A sob. Please don't let anyone notice.

He has to suck in a breath: his lungs are so full. He's sinking, drowning. "And if you're looking for someone to write your break-up songs about," The lyric's supposed to be about Taylor. But so much of his and Louis' story is woven throughout their songs, their albums. Break-ups and tears and fears and desperate hopes that they'll be okay. 

"Baby, I'm perfect," He's not thinking. He's almost mumbling. He wonders what he looks like to these people. Do they see what they're supposed to? The laughing, smiling, dimply pop star? Can they see his flaws, the cracks that split him into pieces, the pain he carries constantly?

"Baby, we're perfect." He's not. He can feel the sobs rising.

"I-If you like causing trouble up in hotel rooms, and if you like having secret little rendezvous, if you like to do the things you know that we shouldn't do, baby I'm perfect- C'mon!- baby I'm perfect for you." More tears run down his cheeks and he turns his head slightly so the shadow hides them.

It's finally the end. "So let's start right now." Harry's words fade out. He feels like he's been punched in the gut. There's still no air in his lungs, and he has no idea how he's managed to keep singing. He steps away from the mic and walks forward with the other boys to bow. Unable to even fake a smile at this point, he sucks his bottom lip in, biting down hard enough to draw blood. 

"Ladies and gentlemen, keep it going for One Direction!" Jack Whitehall walks onstage. Using the applause as a mask, Harry surreptitiously wipes the tear tracks away, and sniffs back the ones that threaten to escape. Now that he's not singing, he's able to push them deep down, until tonight, when they're home and he'll sob into his pillow until his throat is hoarse. 

But right now, Jack's dressed as him and congratulating them on their performance, making jokes about joining the band. He has to smile. And when he coughs away the last of his emotion, Louis looks at him. Actually looks, if only for a second. But when Jack talks about losing a member, and Liam laughs, the knife in his guts twists again. Then Jack side-hugs Liam, who's grin is genuine, hips pressed together, and Harry wonders bitterly if they'll hook up tonight as well. He hopes for Zayn's sake that he isn't watching. Especially when Liam's hand trails across Jack's lower back for a fraction too long.

Then there's more applause, and they walk offstage. Harry waves at a few audience members.  _He has to look normal._ Backstage in the dressing rooms there's no privacy. Louis is concerned, looking at him worriedly, Liam is already talking about his plans for the night, and Niall is pretending to be interested, while looking slightly nauseated. And Harry still can't breathe. The room's too hot, too small, too loud. All his buried tears filling the spaces where air should be. 

The show passes in a blur. They take their final bow and leave the too-bright lights and noisy crowd. Louis is finally able to touch Harry, so he does. His hands are on the small of his back, over his shoulders, fingertips ghosting his arm to steer him in the right direction. Harry's voice has finally been silenced, so Louis does the talking for the both of them. Murmurs of "Lost his voice, so he won't be staying for the party." and "Not sure if I will, mate. Pretty exhausted."

And then they're headed for the car, miraculously avoiding the paps. They must have stayed behind to snap photos at the after-party. Harry can feel himself trembling.  _"Don't keep your emotions bottled up, sweetheart," is what his mum always tells him. "It's not healthy."_ But he can't lose it in the middle of a performance. So he does. Dimly, he's aware of Louis' soft Harry-voice whispering "Breathe. _Please_ breathe, Curly." He can't. He won't be able to until he's home.

But the car's stopping. And their house is right there, and inside will be hot tea and the safety of their bed, and Louis will curl up with him and warm his bones and stop his trembling. So he climbs out of the car on shaking legs and lets Louis guide him, despite the fact that Louis is probably too small and slight to properly support him.  

Because Louis always has. And he'll always do the exact same when Louis needs it.

Because it  _did_ start a long time ago. And despite their broken pieces, their flaws, the parts they keep hidden,

They're Perfect.


End file.
